Myth and Magic

by Mae Clair

  “How else did my father know I was working for BI? Aren and Galen weren’t going to tell him.”

  “It could have been any member of the board.”

  A snort of derisive laughter told her what he thought of the idea. “There isn’t anyone on BI’s board with the nerve to call my parents on vacation. My father doesn’t mix business and pleasure.”

  “So you immediately want to blame Merlin?” Looking at his profile, Veronica felt her irritation ratchet higher. She’d played peacekeeper all evening and had reached her limit. “You’re being unreasonable. Why don’t you just admit you want to slander Merlin?”

  Caith sent her an annoyed glance. “That’s crazy.”

  “Your attitude is crazy. Merlin’s successful, he’s well-liked, and your father backs him in everything he does. That’s what really bothers you, isn’t it? If Merlin wanted to spend a year filming the mating habits of rhinos in Africa, Stuart would finance the expedition.”

  “The mating habits of rhinos?” Surprising her, Caith chuckled. “You need to get out more, Ron. Stone Willow must be getting to you.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  Caith cast his son a look in the rear-view mirror as if fishing for a co-conspirator. Apparently, he’d decided to ditch his moodiness. “Derry, did you know Veronica used to pretend she was a mermaid in the lake at Stone Willow? You should have seen her. She was really bad at it.”

  Not ready to abandon pouting, Derry managed grudging interest. “How come?”

  “She couldn’t swim. She just kind of paddled around.”

  “I did not,” Veronica protested hotly.

  “Until I showed her how to swim.”

  “You are such a liar. Trask was the one who showed me.”

  “Oh. So, I guess you couldn’t swim?”

  Caught, Veronica exhaled in frustration.

  Behind her, Derry giggled and sat forward as far as the seatbelt would allow. “Dad taught me to swim when I was a little kid. I can hold my breath underwater a really long time.” Warming to the conversation, he glanced at his father. “Can we go swimming in the lake, Dad?”

  “It’s too cold for that.” Reaching into his back pocket, Caith pulled something free and tossed it to Derry. “Here, partner, this is for you.”

  Veronica turned in the seat as Derry examined a ball cap. It was dark in the car, but enough light filtered through the windows for her to realize what he held. “Where on earth did you get that?”

  “I found it in my room. Guess it’s been there all this time. I remember Trask’s mother wanted me to have it after the funeral.”

  Derry’s eyes grew round with reflected moonlight. “Was it Trask’s, Dad?”

  “Yeah, Derry, it was his.”

  “Wow, that’s cool.” He ran his hands over the bill, sat back in the seat, and tugged it over his head. It was a little big, but that didn’t stop him from grinning ear-to-ear.

  Later at the lodge, Veronica waited until she was certain Caith had Derry tucked into bed, then tapped lightly at his door. He answered within seconds, looking haggard from the strain of the evening.

  “Can I talk with you?” she asked.

  “Derrick’s out.” He motioned her inside, then nodded toward the bedroom. “He’s a sound sleeper, but I don’t want to leave him alone. I’d feel more comfortable talking here instead of downstairs.”

  She moved past him into the living area. Ever since their harsh exchange of words in the car, she’d felt guilty for her crack about Stuart. Before he’d left for college, Caith had once confided how hurt he’d been his father didn’t support him. She was certain Stuart favored Merlin’s every idea now because he feared losing another son. Caith might not realize it, but he’d taken the wind out of Stuart’s sails when he’d packed up and struck out on his own.

  Twisting her hands together, she turned to face him. “I want to apologize, Caith. I said some things tonight…about your father. Things I shouldn’t have said.”

  “They were deserved.” He grinned tiredly. “Maybe I do always look for a motive when it comes to Merlin. It was bad enough before, but it’s harder now.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought that would be obvious.”

  He moved closer, and with that slight advance, Veronica’s heart pounded. It wasn’t so much what he said, but the way he looked at her. There was heat in his eyes, raw and unchained like the flame of an ancient forge. His fingers brushed the back of her hand, and her mouth went dry. Scintillating sensation shot through her.

  “The two of you were together.” His voice was soft and tender, laced with a sincerity that made her heart pitter-patter. He was everything she’d ever wanted and everything she’d ever hated. He’d left her, and the pain of that parting could still bring tears in the middle of the night.

  His fingers tracked up her arm, curling around her elbow. She’d always been tall, but felt dwarfed by his height as he applied pressure to her arm, willing her to step forward. His hair was impossibly thick, his eyes intently blue. The scent of spicy aftershave clung to his skin, mingled with the fresher scent of bath soap. He must have hugged Derry after giving him a bath and tucking him into bed for the night. The thought of that image, of father and son, made her heart constrict in ways his sensuality couldn’t touch.

  The day had brought other changes, too—the faintest hint of stubble along his jaw, a smudge of ghost-gray shadow beneath his eyes. He looked exhausted, rumpled, and as sexy as hell. It took every effort to resist when he tried to pull her forward.

  “You had your chance, Caith. All those years ago. Why can’t you accept Merlin and I are together?”

  “You’re not. I know you’re not.” He tilted his head and the light struck his eyes, turning arctic blue to moon-silvered smoke. Cupping her cheek, he traced his thumb slowly to the peak of her upper lip. “You love him the way you’ve loved him since we were kids. There’s no fire with him, Ronnie. He’s comfortable and familiar.”

  She wanted to deny it, but his gaze was mesmerizing, the murmur of his voice hypnotic. His thumb dipped lower, rested on her lips, then feathered across the bottom one. Unconsciously, her mouth parted. He tipped her chin up to his, drawing closer. “I want to kiss you.”

  The pronouncement sent a shiver through her.

  Feather-light, his touch played across her lips. Lowering his head, he dropped his voice to a silky whisper. “I want to go on kissing you.” His mouth hovered over hers. “Until you don’t know night from day, and all you want to do is kiss me back.”

  “Caith, no.”

  He turned his attention to her cheek, caressing her skin with the warm whisper-sigh of his breath. She felt the wild race of his heart through his shirt. His tongue tickled the shell of her ear and sent a shockwave rocketing up her spine. Gently, he traced her lips with his thumb, urging them apart.

  “Let me kiss you.” His voice was low, a seductive rasp, but no longer steady.

  She’d affected him. The knowledge thrilled her, made her lift her lips closer to his. A single kiss didn’t mean she’d end up in bed with him. A kiss didn’t mean she’d sold her soul.

  “Dad?”

  Derry’s sleepy inquiry wrenched her back to the present, dousing her with a bucket of cold water. Caith released her. Flustered, he stepped backward and scraped a hand through his hair.

  “Derry, what’s wrong?”

  Veronica flushed. It was far worse being caught with Caith by his son than one of his brothers. She tried to smile at Derry, but heat crept across her cheeks. He stood in the doorway to the bedroom, incredibly sleepy-looking in rumpled pajamas, his black curls tousled over his forehead.

  “I don’t feel good,” he protested.

  “Okay, partner, we’ll get you something,” Caith said reassuringly.

  Veronica felt abruptly cheap and dirty. She’d come to apologize, not be seduced. Heaven only knew what Derrick thought of her now. Then again, maybe Caith routine
ly entertained women in the bedroom. He certainly hadn’t lost his knack for reducing her to a simpering fool.

  Furious, she headed for the door.

  “Ron, wait.” Caith hesitated halfway between her and Derrick.

  “Goodnight, Caithelden.”

  “Dad.”

  “It’s okay, Derry, I’m coming.”

  As she stormed out the door, the last sight Veronica had was of Caith crouching in front of his son, gently cupping his face as if searching for signs of fever.

  * * * *

  Veronica’s mind wandered even as she tried to focus on the book she was reading. She’d changed into a short nightie the color of antique lace, then curled into bed, intending to lose herself in the gutsy exploits of the heroine from her latest mystery novel. Unfortunately, her encounter with Caith kept interfering.

  She hated how close she’d come to losing herself in their almost-kiss. How she’d wanted his heat to engulf her and sweep her into a tide of sensual pleasure. What right did he have evoking feelings like that when he would pack up and leave in a few weeks? He’d return to Boston and forget, as he’d done before, that she even existed.

  Too keyed up to read, she snagged a silk robe from the foot of the bed and headed from the apartment. The shimmery fabric whispered against her bare legs as she walked up the steps to the third floor. There hadn’t been any unusual incidents lately, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t poke around. Pausing at the head of the stairs, she looked down the darkened hallway. It wouldn’t do to be found wandering at night by one of the guests, but she only had to worry about Bowerman and Caith on this level.

  Something flitted through the darkness at the end of the hall, followed by a sliver of sound. The volume was low at first, a bare murmur that rose sharply in pitch before plummeting like a cresting wave. A woman’s eerie sobs echoed through the corridor, magnified by the hush of night-time stillness. The hair prickled on Veronica’s neck. She knew the sound, had heard it before. Two weeks ago it had chased guests from their rooms, been ridiculed in the Coldcreek Herald by Kelly Rice, and written off as a cheap Halloween trick by Sheriff Duke Cameron.

  A spectral figure appeared at the end of the hall. Cloaked head-to-foot in ghostly white, a woman moved noiselessly across the worn floorboards. Only days ago, Caith had pointed out how the aged boards creaked, yet the woman walked without awakening a squeak of sound. Generous waves of white hair concealed her face, her body insubstantial, nearly translucent. Releasing a chill wail, she pressed a lace handkerchief to her mouth, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

  “Wait!” Veronica bolted down the hall, her heart hammering out a frantic beat. Had she just seen a ghost or was someone playing another trick? Rounding the corner, she came to a dead end at the closed door of the Hummingbird Suite. The ghostly apparition had vanished without a trace. Raising her hand to knock, she hesitated, debating the wisdom of waking Dean Bowerman.

  “Veronica.”

  Startled, she whirled to find Caith and Derry behind her. Bundled into a thick robe, Derry was wide-eyed, looking more curious than frightened. Caith was shoeless, his shirt hastily thrown on, fully unbuttoned and hanging over his belt. She caught the gleam of something metallic in his hand.

  “Did you hear the sobbing?” she whispered.

  “Hear it? It woke us out of a sound sleep.” He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I…” What did she tell him? That he’d so enflamed her thoughts she couldn’t concentrate on anything but him and had gone wandering as a diversion? “I saw something. A woman at the end of the hallway. I followed her here.”

  The door opened behind her revealing a bleary-eyed Dean Bowerm. “What’s going on out here?” A thin man with an elongated face, he was dressed for bed in tan pajamas and a belted blue robe.

  Caith brushed past him into the suite.

  “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Bowerman demanded.

  “Mr. Bowerman.” Veronica spoke quickly as Caith moved away to do a sweep of the adjoining rooms. “Did you…did you hear anything, or see anything unusual just a short while ago?”

  Appearing flustered, he pressed his lips together. “I was sleeping, Ms. Kent. Sleeping. I thought that’s what the lodge was supposed to be about. Relaxation. I hardly think it soothing to have someone barge into my suite in the middle of the night.” He stopped abruptly, his face undergoing a startling transformation. “Oh, no. Something happened, didn’t it? Something paranormal. The one night I decide to get some rest and I miss an occurrence.” Plainly agitated by the thought, he shook his head. “What did I miss?”

  He spun around as Caith came back into view. For the first time, Veronica got a good look at the item in his left hand—a heavy duty flashlight like a cop might carry. Given it wasn’t lit, had he intended it as a weapon?

  “You really didn’t hear anything?” Caith asked.

  “I told you I was asleep.” Bowerman exhaled noisily. He retreated into the room and dropped into the nearest chair with a despondent shake of his head. “I can’t believe I missed an occurrence. It’s the whole reason I signed up for the retreat in the first place.”

  Caith slanted Veronica a doubtful look. “There was a woman sobbing. It woke me and my son.”

  “I sleep with earplugs,” Bowerman explained. “Old habit from my college days when I had an off-campus apartment by a railroad crossing.”

  “What brought you to the door?” Caith persisted.

  Bowerman shrugged. “I heard talking.”

  “With earplugs?”

  Clearly irritated, Bowerman scowled. “Of course not. I’d already removed them when I woke up.” He eyed Caith disapprovingly. “Everyone knows about you, Mr. Breckwood, about why you’re here. Guests might be cut off from the outside world, but we’ve overheard the staff talking about the column in the Coldcreek Herald.”

  “My name is Lairen.”

  “Personally, I think you’re wasting your time,” Bowerman continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Not everything that happens has a rational explanation. There are numerous documented accounts of paranormal happenings throughout the world, many scientifically proven. If I were BI, I’d hire a paranormal researcher, not an investigator.”

  “Such as yourself?”

  Bowerman chuckled. “I’m a marketing manager. I just happen to enjoy reading about the unexplained.” Standing, he tightened his robe. “And since I seem to have missed the opportunity, I’d like to get some sleep now.”

  Caith hesitated in the doorway. “One last question. You said you opened the door because you heard talking. What woke you in the first place?”

  “Thirst. I wanted a glass of water.” Patience gone, Bowerman sneered. “It might come as a shock to you, Mr. Breckwood, but most people don’t like being questioned like a criminal.” He turned his attention on Veronica. “If I were you, Ms. Kent, I wouldn’t pass out any how-did-you-enjoy-your-stay evaluations.” The door clicked in place with a resounding snap.

  “You have a gift with people, Caith,” she observed dryly.

  He scowled. “No one’s that defensive over a few simple questions. He’s hiding something.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “It’s my only opinion.” Catching her arm, he steered her away from the door. “Derry, come on. We’re going back to the suite.”

  “Without me,” Veronica protested as he walked her down the hall. But she didn’t make an effort to pull away. It felt good to have his hand wrapped securely about her arm, her body held firmly to his side.

  “I want you to stay with Derry,” Caith said as they neared the Blackbird Suite. “He had a stomachache earlier, and I don’t want to leave him alone.” He pushed the door open and waited for Derry, who followed reluctantly. The boy was obviously more interested in what might be happening in the hallway.

  “Dad, was it a ghost? Do you think it’ll come back?”

&
nbsp; Veronica was surprised to hear hopeful excitement in his voice as she stepped into the suite.

  “No, it wasn’t a ghost, and no, it isn’t coming back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it’s late and any sensible ghoul or school-aged kid should be in bed. Now, get going, partner. I’ll be back in a moment to tuck you in.”

  “Awwright.” Derry dragged out the word as if he’d been given the worst punishment in the world. Delaying as long as possible, he disappeared into the adjoining bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  * * * *

  Caith’s gaze swiveled to Veronica. From the moment he’d seen her in the hallway, her bare legs flashing beneath the satiny folds of her robe, he’d been dangerously distracted. “The next time you go ghost-hunting, you might want to wear something more practical.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He pressed nearer, not caring when her eyes widened in surprise. Hooking his finger into her belt, he tugged. The creamy fabric unraveled easily, leaving her long legs bare, the tops of her thighs brushed by the lacy silk of her skimpy nightie. Heat surged through him, staggering and lava hot. He swallowed hard, fighting the desire to put his hands on her. With her hair loose against her shoulders, her full lips innocently parted, she was every inch a siren. He’d never wanted a woman so badly in his life, but he’d made a vow.

  Her terms.

  With a groan, he leaned forward, pressing his brow to hers. One touch, just one. He skimmed his fingers across her hip and felt her tremble. “Do you know how badly I want you?”

  Her voice quavered. “I know you’ve always been about sex.”

  The words drove a fist into his gut. The desire drained out of him, replaced by something cold and empty. “Will you stay with my kid while I check the lodge?”

  As if unable to trust her voice, Veronica nodded.

  He shut his mind down, forcing himself not to think about her as he retreated to the bedroom to get Derrick settled. Afterward, he buttoned his shirt, tucked the ends into his jeans and pulled on a pair of shoes. Veronica was waiting in the living room when he returned.